


balm

by aPaperCupCut



Series: Slenderman Mythos Stories [4]
Category: Slender Man Mythos, Tribe Twelve
Genre: Body Language, Gen, Overthinking, Present Tense, a short thing i dont plan to continue, mostly just like the writing style and wanted to share, noah hates himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:58:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPaperCupCut/pseuds/aPaperCupCut
Summary: Noah and himself, in an empty room, discussing nothing much at all.





	balm

“You need not ask for much.”

It's spoken with an edge of trepidation; sullen, almost. The pause, the sound of a tongue held against the roof of his mouth… Noah considers ripping it out.

“Don't - don't disregard me. I know what I'm doing.” A finger taps against the arm rest, dark with shadows bleeding from a wound not yet healed. Again, the man sighs, something like frustration melding into it. “You know they'll see it, if you don't.”

Noah considers it, still not meeting the man's eyes. His thumbs fumble against his palms, and maybe his knees shake under the weight of his elbows. Thoughts cluster inside him, a balm for the silence that seems to overflow his mind whenever the man comes a-calling.

When Noah doesn't respond, the other shifts, mimicking his posture. Something inside him curdles, and Noah sits up without thinking, mouth sneering. But he regrets it; oh, how he regrets it, when the man, a mockery, god what a pathetic mockery it is, follows him. Eye to eye; pupils wide, whites bloody.

He hates him.

Hates him.

“Don't look at me like that,” he scoffs, and Noah knows that he hates him just as much. It's in every word, dripping from every vowel. “You knew. You thought you didn't, but you're not a fool, Noah. No, you're just an idiot.”

Noah bristles, but he grits his teeth and shuts his mouth, refusing to give in and speak. At the corner of his eye, he can see the flicker of darkness, the same darkness that echoes him in sleep. He doesn't want it to come out; the urge, to shout, to beg the other to push it away grows in his throat, a rock of ice chilling his blood. But he won't. The other is aware enough. He doesn't need to say it.

**Author's Note:**

> so, this actually was supposed to lead into a giant one shot i planned that was uh.... dubious, to say the least. didnt really happen because i kindve lost both the plot of the oneshot and of tribetwelve lol
> 
> if anybodys interested, it had time travel fuckery and lots and lots of miscommunication and angst. so. so much angst


End file.
